and yet, it manages to swell again;
the sadness is lamenting again...

i used to think i could find home by
tracing your fingers back to where...

the days patinas into night more readily
this time around; offering four hours of...

with soft yearning, i shall write of you tonight.
the skies simmering away the stars might have...

we cross the meadow, astonished
in part by the beauty of it. the river...

absence is the gentle undressing of self; what...
the ocean churns itself in playful delight...

misery is a quiet resource; an unknown quantity of...
you were the oasis, the empty vessel that life...

i was not taught to be gentle;
the whirling winds outside...

borrowing breath from tomorrow
staves lament just a moment longer...

life agitates in the cracks between the heart
and the soul, blooming in whole, not parts...

your name is scarred tissue
on my tongue; your incendiary...

the worst part is the after hours, when floating
memories blur into one another kaleidoscopically...